


Burning Bright

by FayJay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-04
Updated: 2009-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayJay/pseuds/FayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written and set shortly after 4.10.</p><p>In which Castiel begins to doubt, and Anna understands all too well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Bright

Perversely, Castiel has come to think of her as Anna. Which says perhaps a little too much about the way he has begun to think.

She is restored. She is a principality once more, above him, above even Uriel, and her name is certainly not Anna now – but still Castiel thinks of her by that name. There has been no explanation of her acceptance; she has simply been forgiven. Why she can be forgiven and Lucifer condemned for all eternity for the same crime... this, one is not permitted to ask. Like so many things.

“That is the last of them. The seal is safe.” Her voice is brisk, her expression cool as she drops the last body to the ground. Light spills from her like liquid, making the pooled blood glitter and casting shadows like pitch in the hollows of the dead women's eyes. Her hair – for she still favours this mortal form when mortal forms are needed – is bright as roses, dark as rust. She was always terrible in her strength and her righteousness; it had been profoundly disturbing to see her incarnate and graceless and small and frail and yet still, undeniably, herself. Monstrous – and yet also eerily compelling. Now that she has been restored to her former glory, Castiel cannot look upon her without recalling the strange, stolen humanity she had flaunted before them all.

“Now cleanse the area,” she says to Uriel without looking at him. There are humans scattered through this town whose souls have been sullied by the demons that have just been sent back to the pit. She means to tie up the loose ends. Uriel nods once, and is gone; he has accepted her return without comment, and follows her orders without quibbling. Always the perfect soldier, Uriel. It would be disobedience to question divine will.

Dean Winchester, Castiel is quite certain, would not approve of this pragmatic extermination of human lives. Humans have a distorted notion of justice, of course, but the trouble is that Castiel can see his point.

It _isn't_ fair.

Anna crosses the room, padding lightly through blood and crunching down on bones until she reaches the altar. She lifts one hand and blue-white fire pours out, crackling, to immolate the ancient stone. This seal will not be one of Lilith's sixty six; she is destroying it utterly. The planes of her face are sharp and pitiless in the cold light.

Castiel watches her covertly, and thinks about the words she spoke to him that night. He cannot help turning them over, like a child rolling a sweet thoughtfully on their tongue: that he could not feel sorry. That he did not understand what sorry meant.

The stone shatters, the fragments glowing white-hot, and Castiel looks away. He knows that he could not have destroyed this filthy thing without her. They are lucky to have her back. She is truly a force to be reckoned with. But – but he cannot help but notice that she takes no joy in this or any task. She is businesslike and efficient to a fault, lethal, obedient, merciless and pure; but she isn't happy. Not that any of them are happy, or have any business being happy – it is the kind of self-indulgence God only allows His humans. And possibly His demons. Happiness is beside the point.

He does not ask her why she abandoned her grace. He, of all souls, is afraid that he understands perfectly well. After millennia of silent observation, she walked among the humans and was seen, was touched, was heard and held. She had appetites and impulses and free will. Frailties and delights. Answers to her questions. Choices. Opportunities. It was a terrible perversion, of course, the very worst of crimes – but still Castiel cannot suppress his curiosity. Almost, his envy – but envy would be treacherous, blasphemous, unthinkable.

...he's been doing a lot of thinking, lately.

“You want to try it, don't you?”

Castiel's head whips up at that, and he finds her eyes fixed upon him with a knowing expression in their depths. He swallows. “I don't know what you mean,” he says. Prevarication does not become him.

Anna smiles. It is a frightening expression, for a number of reasons. “You want to taste mortality.” She walks towards him, ignoring the coals underfoot. “You want to be one of them. Uriel does not understand, but you have questions too.”

“I am obedient to the Lord,” says Castiel carefully. He stands his ground, but he feels a thrill of terror as she approaches. “I do as I am bid.”

“You do,” she concedes. She is standing very close now. “You have broken no law. But do not try to tell me that you have not asked yourself what logic guides our deeds. What justice really means. Why there is no compassion.” Her smile is dangerous. Castiel is very much aware that she is strong enough to destroy him. He does not know the rules of this game. “And do not think to fool yourself; you wonder how it felt.”

“I don't know what you mean,” he says again, pointlessly.

“The pleasures of the flesh. An apple tart upon the tongue. The sunlight on bare skin. Hilarity. Desire. Stepping out of snowy streets into a firelit room. Embarrassment, and hope, and tenderness. To know shame or regret. To be lost in sensation.” Her smile is cold, her tone precise. “Dancing. Eating. Sleeping. Fucking.”

“It is abomination,” says Castiel, staring into her eyes. He swallows. “I am as I must be.”

“God loves them best,” she snaps, and her expression is startling in its bitterness. “Their lives are short but still they know joys that you cannot dream.”

“They are helpless,” he says after a moment. “They are the prey of each demon that scrabbles out of hell; they have no notion of the horrors clamouring for their souls. They cannot see the truth. They make mistakes and find themselves bound for eternity.” He realises, too late, that he sounds almost indignant on their behalf.

“Ah, you begin to doubt.” There is a smile in her voice, but nothing of kindness in her face.

“No!” says Castiel, almost a shout. One cannot afford doubt.

There is a long silence between them, and Castiel feels terribly exposed. One cannot risk even the appearance of criticising the Lord.

“Is it because of Dean?” She looks at him dispassionately. “Or did you already have doubts before you went to Hell?”

“I am a warrior of the Lord,” says Castiel, as firmly as he can. “No one questions His will.”

“Did you resent me getting close to him?”

Castiel does not, quite, know what it means to hate, but he thinks he could begin to hate Anna. There is nothing in all the universe that Castiel can call his own, no friends or confidants, no pets or prized possessions. But Dean Winchester has become – something. Somebody. Castiel's responsibility, and something more than that. Dean is strangely precious to him.

“The Lord has chosen him. Dean Winchester is not one to abandon souls in need. It was quite unsurprising he should try to keep you safe.”

“I fucked him too,” she says, watching his face. “He was lovely. He _is _lovely. So sweet, and brave, and broken.”

This is, of course, not news to Castiel. So he is startled by the surge of sheer wrath that it provokes. “Dean Winchester is not a toy. You are not worthy of him.”

Her eyes widen at his outburst. “I see.” She licks her lips. “Have care, Castiel, you sound like you are on the brink of falling.”

He turns away. “Our business here is done.”

So saying he hurls himself back out of the world, leaving her alone with the blood and bones and broken stones, and with her too-knowing smile.

FINIS


End file.
